


Here at the End

by gorey_wog (coley_wog)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Major Character Injury, basically everything's painful and awful and caliborn's a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 22:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coley_wog/pseuds/gorey_wog
Summary: Based on the 4/13/15 upd8′s (aka Caliborn's Masterpiece). Tried to make it as awful and dramatic as possible.





	Here at the End

You didn’t think anything could move that fast. The rage at your bro’s imprisonment and banishment to who knows where is quickly replaced with panic as the blur of red and green tosses your friends around like so many playing cards. Even flashstepping, it’s all you can do to minimize the damage he does to them. 

One instant, he’s by Jake, landing a kick to his gut. You’re there in time to parry the gold scepter before it connects with Jake’s head and he’s gone again. You hear Roxy cry out as she’s launched into the wall. You rush to place yourself between her and her attacker but he’s moved on to Jane. She tries and fails to impale him on her fork as he rushes her, dodging the attack easily and landing a hard blow to her jaw. She falls. There’s a flash of gold as his weapon transforms from scepter to rifle, and you make it just in time to knock it from his hand before he can fill her with lead. It’s then that he stops, and he turns his attention–finally, solely–to you. 

For a long agonizing moment, you hold his flashing lidless gaze. “What’s wrong, bro?” And you struggle to keep your voice at it’s normal deadpan, “you keep running away. Not man enough to face me?” You’re well aware you’re no match for him, but maybe you can buy the others some time to recover. Give him something to focus on so they can get away.

He grins and you’ve never felt more like prey in your life. “Such antagonism. Is that a challenge, Dirk?” His voice is as mocking and derisive as you expected, but there’s something about the way he spits your name that makes your stomach turn. You raise your blade as he drops into a hunched, feral battle stance. The seconds crawl by as you stare each other down. 

Finally, you make the first move and flashstep in for an attack. He meets you halfway. The exchange is a chaotic blur consisting of you swinging your sword at him while he dodges every blow nigh effortlessly. His speed is not even close to what it was before. He’s toying with you. Fuck. He aims a swift blow for your face and you just barely pull back in time. Another strike grazes your right arm. There’s something odd about the way he’s fighting now, aside from how much he’s drawing this out. His stance is different from before. It’s low, hunched, predatory… He’s no longer just swinging his fists around like before. They are swift, precise, calculated strikes; and he’s using open palms and a lot more claw. All his movements in general have become erratic but also more smooth and… graceful? No, that’s not the word you’re looking for. It’s more… “serpentine.” 

Suddenly, one of your blows connects. You can tell he let it. It slices his shoulder but there is no sign of injury, only a cut in his god tier garments. He doesn’t hold back with his next blow–an open palm strike to the chest. It hits with full force and you swear it’s snapped a rib or two, and he drags his claws roughly through fabric and flesh before pulling back. Again and again he allows you to land a fruitless blow before he draws more of your blood. And though the attacks are too quick for your eyes to follow, it still feels like he holds his hands on you for a little too long. A little too… No, you’re just imagining things. 

You bring your blade down onto his skull, again leaving not so much as a scratch. He smirks as if to tell you just how hopeless your situation is. This time he strikes your hip and you know you felt a squeeze that time. You lash out in anger, but he grabs your sword hand, holding your fist immobile in a vice-like grip. He strikes with his free hand and you catch it in yours, fingers intertwined and his claws digging painfully into the back of your hand, holding you in a power struggle. He bears down with unbelievable force and you feel the ground cracking beneath your feet. It’s all you can do to stay upright, yet he looks like he’s having the time of his life. 

He’s still grinning as he opens his jaws impossibly wide, revealing dozens of long sharp fangs. To your horror he leans in closer despite your best efforts to hold him back, and clamps his gaping maw down hard on your left shoulder. You bite back a cry of pain as his teeth sink into your flesh, your bones creaking in protest from the pressure. You try desperately to struggle free, but he’s still holding your hands fast and every movement sends bolts of pain through your shoulder and you’re forced to hold still to minimize the damage. 

With each passing moment, you feel your strength fading, your vision blurring. Over his shoulder, you see Jane still lying on the ground. Fuck, why won’t you wake up? Heal the others! Get out! I can’t hurt him. I can’t even fight anymore. At this point, your survival rate is directly proportionate to how long he stays interested in me. You have to wake up NOW!! You will her to hear your silent pleas, but she doesn’t move. You start to lose hope. 

It’s at that moment that he bites down harder. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth against the pain. But then he starts to gnaw. You throw your head back and don’t even try to keep from screaming. Slowly, deliberately, up and down, side to side, sharp fangs working like a saw through muscle and bone. First the clavicle snaps, then the scapula is rent and you feel your arm forced from its socket. Tears stream down your face and you wonder if he’ll grind it clean off. Your dominant arm is useless anyway and hangs limply in his grasp. If not for his grip on your hand, you’d have dropped the sword by now. Or have you? You barely have the presence of mind to realize you’re no longer holding it and he is no longer holding your hand. 

Mercifully, he releases your shoulder. Your legs buckle beneath you and you’re held suspended only by his bloodstained claws still intertwined and clutching your limp hand. Then you see it–too late–your sword in his other hand as he plunges it hilt deep into your chest. You cough and taste iron. He finally lets you go and the floor rushes up to meet you. You’ve barely hit the ground when the sword is yanked out of you. He kicks you in the gut and you gasp and cough up more blood. He kicks you again until you’re on your back and he thrusts your blade through you once more, this time pinning you to the ground. Blood pools around you and everything is a blur. You think you hear someone screaming your name. Did they wake up? Can they escape? Was it enough? Your vision goes dark. 

Your body feels warm. You open your eyes to a bright light, and the pain has gone numb. A winged being bathed in light is floating above you and for a moment you think you must have died and gone to heaven. But that can’t be right. He’s here too. Being tossed around like a leaf in the wind by the bright surging waves of… Hope? Jake. Jake, please you have to get them out of here. You try to speak but it only comes out as a gurgle. You wonder how it’s possible that you’re not dead.

The light fades, and your foe is lying confused and disoriented on the ground. This is your only chance. You have to get up. You pull at the hilt of your sword with your one good hand, but it refuses to budge from where it’s been rooted. You arch your back and tremble from the effort until a gentle hand rests on yours. “I got you, Dirk. I got you,” Roxy’s voice, though broken with tears, has never been more comforting. Carefully, she helps you sit up, all the while repeating, “I got you. You’re gonna be ok. Hang in there,” and you’re not sure if it’s you or herself she’s reassuring. She uses her powers of void to easily slip the blade from the ground. If she pulled it out of you, it’d just draw more blood. It will have to stay for now. 

She helps you to your feet. You manage a “thank you” between coughing, and tell her to stand back while you ready a soul spell. It’s difficult when one arm refuses to move the way you want it to, though it doesn’t seem to hurt as bad as it did for some reason. Then you spot Jane, still on the ground and barely conscious, but with one arm she’s reaching out to you. You realize she’s been doing her best to heal you from there and is the reason you’re still breathing. 

You turn your attention back to the enemy. Looks like he’s finally out of his stupor and has picked up on what you’re planning. You’re running out of time. The spell is charging too slowly. If only there was…

What’s that sound?

….Horses?


End file.
